


Petrichor

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enjoy!, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, dream - Freeform, dreamnotfound, georgenotfound - Freeform, kingdom au, sapnap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As an attempt to reconcile between the two nations, George finds himself placed under the protection of Dream, who is long regarded as the emotionless masked man successful in war endeavors. Upon his initial arrival, George finds Dream and his kingdom too crushingly lonely and cold, but somewhere in their strictly political relationship, the boundaries start to blur between denial and intimacy.“Please Dream.” At the end of the day, when all the rain has fallen, the petrichor will arise, the calm after the storm.“Am I not enough for you right now?” Dream murmurs.“You are always enough.” George responds instantaneously.“You were not born under a flawless planet. You were made for someone special.” George says.“And I think that someone should be me.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), dreamnotfound - Relationship
Comments: 91
Kudos: 266





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not really familiar with writing fanfic but this is my first shot. it starts right after george's initial meeting with dream in dream's kingdom. they are both royalty and in a sense are "betrothed" to each other. not much action right now, but a lot more is to come. enjoy!

The pain comes in waves. The regret follows. Nausea inundates George’s body and threatens to overtake his consciousness. It’s only a matter of minutes before he slumps down in the heavily forested woods, the dense shrubbery making the atmosphere unbearably humid and claustrophobic. The ground, saturated with rain water, is pliable and mushy under his touch. Somewhere far off, birds are chirping, singing merrily in spite of him, mocking George’s current situation. He wants to be free like them. George breathes a heavy sigh through his racing heart before letting his heavy head sink into his hands.

How far has he been running?

The castle is nowhere in sight; in fact he doesn’t even know if he is on kingdom grounds. George lets out a deranged laugh before he faces the sky and lets the light drizzle drip onto his forehead and slide down the bridge of his nose. The pit in his stomach seems bottomless and suffocatingly seizes him all at once in an agonizing manner. He inhales and exhales deeply, sucking in the air in large quantities but none of it seems to settle in his lungs.

George breaks his resolve. _Foolish to run from what has already been set in front of him._ He lifts himself from the ground painfully, careful not to trample his freshly ironed clothes matched for this occasion. His cloak, unfortunately, is soaked from blue into a dark indigo and his hair clings to his face. His breath is still ragged; he’s not particularly athletic and the miles he ran didn’t do him justice either.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots and rustling foliage emerges from behind him and George brings his attention to reality. He is here. In Dream’s kingdom. There is certainly no escape.

Behind him from the shrubbery emerges a fairly decently built man donning full armor and a white headband, which keeps his ruffled black hair from obscuring his eyes. He looks somewhat shy on intruding what seems to be a particularly private moment, yet so intimidating in his complete military outerwear.

George recognizes this man almost instantaneously. At his first meeting with Dream not long ago, he remembers seeing this man behind him, with an air of loyalty to his prince. 

_This is Dream’s personal bodyguard, sworn to serve the single duty to protect him,_ George registers.

George feels despair once more. Of course there is no escaping in this kingdom. Dream is a tyrant after all. 

“Uhm..” The voice behind him clears his throat.

“I was told to escort you back to castle grounds, Prince George.” The man says quietly. “Unless you want some more time here then I can wait too, I guess.”

The man behind him shifts awkwardly from foot to foot while avoiding eye contact with George.

This is Dream’s personal knight? George is beyond amused now. _Well at least someone acts human in this kingdom. Thank god not everyone in this kingdom wears a mask and acts emotionless._ George relaxes his shoulders and feels much more reassured, but he still stays silent observing the man.

“Uhm I’m Sapnap,” the man says shyly. 

“Dream wants you back at the castle soon to discuss alliance terms when you have ‘stopped being an idiot’” Sapnap quotes. “And uhm I’m here to help you with that?”

“Why aren’t you by his side?” George responds instead, disregarding the request and forgetting to filter his thoughts.

“Because he wants me here to get you?”

“But what if he were to be attacked now, then what would happen?”

“I mean like Dream is strong enough to carry himself in a battle. I think he’ll be fine.” Sapnap answers, clearly extremely confused and suspicious.

“How does he know that you’re not here just to secretly work with me and allow me to break off our agreement?” 

“Well Dream trusts me, something you have not earned yet, and if you don’t get back to the castle Dream might think _you’re_ betraying the terms.” 

_Touché_ , George thinks very amused. Noticing the lack of retort, Sapnap smiles very briefly, taking it as a personal victory, before extending a hand towards the path back to the castle. This time, George is not so reluctant to go back.

They walk along the trail back to the castle where George’s footprints have already indented the land. The light drizzle has come to a stop and the sun is starting to emerge from behind the clouds and shed some warmth in the autumn weather. 

“So, how old are you?” Sapnap asks, hoping to strike a conversation on their long way back. George can already associate Sapnap with being almost like a panda bear, clingy yet sweet. 

“I’m almost 21,” George responds. _It would be nice to have a friend in this lonely kingdom_ , he considers. “What about you?” he adds tentatively.

Sapnap looks over and shoots him a grin. “I’m only 19!” he says proudly. Impressed, George raises an eyebrow; that is awfully young to be a bodyguard and much less the prince’s most trusted personnel. 

In no less than mere minutes, they are back at the gates of the castle and Sapnap gives an acknowledging nod to the soldiers stationed outside before leading George into the main hall. 

_The air in here is frigid_ , George notes, yet Sapnap and the others seem completely unfazed. The walls of the castle seem too narrow, the architecture too sharp, the color of the walls too dark, the people too distant. George feels his lungs closing in on him again. Even with Sapnap, a newly acquainted “friend” of this kingdom, George feels overwhelmingly small and lonely.

Sapnap seats George at the end of a great banquet table and offers to take off his cloak for him, to which George refuses. It feels too cold in the castle to shed a layer of clothing. 

From behind the double doors on the right, the masked man, who George met briefly upon his initial arrival to the kingdom, seats himself directly across from him. The apparition of a gust of wind from his entrance chills George to the core and leaves his fingers trembling in the wake. 

He knows this masked man to be Dream. The crown prince, soon to be king, is said to always be present with a permanent smiley face etched onto a piece of board strapped to his face. Rumors have circulated regarding Dream’s face and his privacy, but one thing George knows for certain is that Dream is not kind. He is a tyrant, a self-made young prince, successful in pausing the attempts of colonization by the Schlatt administration to the east. George feels a shift in the crushing atmosphere; he sits with his fingers trembling, legs slightly bouncing, and heart racing. He peers forward at Dream with his stomach swimming with feelings of great discomfort as if he were restored back to before his personal meeting with Sapnap. 

Sapnap, almost immediately, departs from George’s side to join Dream across the table. _He’s far away,_ George automatically clocks. _That’s right. I’m supposed to be lonely here_ . _Nobody’s here for me._

“As you are well aware, your father has placed me in charge of your protection for your country’s resources.” Dream enunciates coldly. “This mutual relationship will be significant in allowing peace between our nations and in progressing in our wars with the Schlatt administration and enemies.”

Dream pauses momentarily and George stares straight forward towards that repulsive mask. _Can he be any less colder than the middle of winter?_

“And, as you are placed under my protection, betrothed to me if you will, you may not exit castle grounds nor may you remain alone for extended periods of time. I work for effectiveness and I have no interest in what you do, but if those rules are broken, you will suffer.”

George’s vision swims. _Excuse me?_ _Did I hear that correctly? What the hell is this? Am I a domesticated animal?_ It is certainly cold, he decides. 

“What the hell?” Out of all the thoughts and emotions that flew past his mind in the past second, George decides to question his authority. Clearly not his brightest moment. 

“I said what I said.” _If Dream didn’t have a mask on his face, he would have definitely been narrowing his eyes right now_ , George thinks. 

“Sapnap, I think you can get BadBoyHalo now to introduce George to his living situation and to get him accustomed to the rules of the kingdom.” 

Sapnap nods to Dream’s orders and departs the room immediately, shooting George a slight grin on his way out. They sit awkwardly across from each other as Sapnap leaves to get this “BadBoyHalo” person. Dream’s _stupid_ mask is faced directly to him and he looks down. _Fuck him,_ George snarls deep inside his head. If he could, George would rip that mask right off Dream’s face and see how intimidating he really is. 

“I brought him!” Sapnap cheerfully says upon his quick return, gesturing to the man beside him with great extravagance, before he returns back to Dream’s side. 

_Oh great, yet another intimidating man._

BadBoyHalo is dressed in all black with accents of red outlining his clothes. He really looks like the devil reincarnated on the earth and George has to suppress himself from another bout of fear. What George does not expect is his high pitched, enthusiastic voice. 

“Oh my god, hi Prince George! I am honored to meet you! Yes my name is really BadBoyHalo, but you can call me Bad!” 

Already, George can sense that Bad means no harm and that out of all the people he has met today, he is the most likely to become a friend. Feeling returns to his fingertips as he becomes more warmed to the sudden act of kindness.

Bad smiles at Sapnap and Dream and he gives them an aggressive wave, to which Dream nods to, before practically dragging George back into the main hall.

“Hi Prince George! So, today I will be introducing you to your room and the basic floor plan of the castle!” Bad enthusiastically adds, “I will also probably train you in mastering the sword! If you have any questions you can always consult me, I’d love to give advice!”

_First of all, Bad can wield a sword? This man looks like he would set a spider free out the window. Second, mastering the sword?_

George has not touched a single blade since he was seven. 

“You can just call me George, if you’d like,” is all George is able to reply to the heavy influx of information so graciously provided.

“Great, George!” Bad leads them up the staircase and down the corridor before stopping in front of a huge archway. 

“This marks the East wing! Usually these are the royalty's private quarters and it is heavily guarded at the entrance so no danger can come in or out.” Bad leads them even further into the wing before he stops in front of a set of large wooden doors.

“And, this is where you’ll get to stay.” 

They walk into the large room together. _It is very well furnished_ , George observes. _Well I am staying here for the rest of my days and I’m practically not allowed to leave._

The room is extremely cold, but just as expected for a prince, everything else meets standards. He has a practical wooden working desk, drawers with parchment and quills, silky bed sheets, a closet of finely made clothes, a fireplace, and a sitting area. What he enjoys most though, is his large glass window that faces the setting sun and sits right above the castle’s garden.

And, to the left of his bed is another, large wooden oak door. 

George approaches the polished door to open it, curious as to what else is left to satisfy his stay. Before his hand can reach the handle, Bad quickly interjects and places his hand on the handle. 

“It’s best you not go in.” Bad urges. “That’s Dream’s room.”

George is confused to the maximum level possible. 

“Why would Dream’s room be connected to mine?” George asks.

“It’s purely for security measures. The peace of your two nations rely on your protection and if anything were to happen Dream would be able to assist.” 

Bad continues, slightly noticing George’s discomfort. “He would know if you were to enter or exit your room.”

“Why can’t I have someone like you just watch over me and protect me instead? Doesn’t he have more pressing matters?” 

“There are people out there for you, George. A lot of people haven’t come to terms with having a foreign enemy reside as a great official in their country. Your contract with Dream now also makes you a potential candidate for a hostage and leverage. If you were, god forbid, to be attacked, Dream _is_ the strongest person in our kingdom.”

Bad sighs, “I know this is hard for you but if you ever need help, I am always here,” and, noting the setting sun and the quickly darkening room, Bad insists, “We will probably begin mastering the sword tomorrow, but until then have fun! You can tell me all about it tomorrow!”

“Bye George!” Bad says one last time waving and smiling before closing the door to George’s room. 

George is left alone once again, sitting on his bed watching as the room grays and the wisps of the sun descend over the forest. He takes off his now dried cloak and sets it on one of the couches in front of the fireplace before changing into a less formal outfit. _Comfort over appearance,_ George thinks.

It is cold beyond belief now. He sits in utter darkness, shivering slightly to himself, pitying the situation his father had put up, the situation he had to sacrifice himself for. 

_I have not wielded a sword since I was seven. Perhaps I do need protection, I am far too weak to rule a kingdom on my own,_ George admits in defeat. His head sinks into his hands and he feels the same panic as he did before. All alone, in the dark, in the cold. 

Not long after sundown, the door to his room creaks open once more and Sapnap peeks his head through the tiny crack, which allows much eyestraining light to flow into the room. 

“God, how do you live like this George? It feels like winter already and you’re sitting in the pitch black darkness!”

“Yeah,” George says, “Not that it matters much though.”

“Why do you mean it doesn’t matter much? Anyways, I have the perfect solution for you.” Sapnap grins. He walks into the room completely and swings directly to the fireplace, ignoring George for the time being. From his hand, glinting in the slight moonlight, George can see flint and steel. 

_Ah, he’s making a fire._

It takes two ignition strikes for Sapnap to start the fire in the fireplace but once it has started, the room is much more illuminated and feels much less lonely. 

“I love fires, so I can always help you light one.” 

“Thanks, Sapnap.”

“No problem, George! I’ll probably be stationed outside your rooms for about an hour more, so if you need help just pop out.” 

George considers this for a moment. 

“Hey, Sapnap, can you leave one of your swords here? I’m having lessons with Bad tomorrow and I would like to show up not completely clueless.” 

With some hesitation, Sapnap contemplates his request before he uncovers a sword from his side and sets it down on the couch in front of the fireplace. 

“Alright if there’s nothing more I am going to station myself outside of your rooms,” he says, passing George a thumbs up, before promptly closing the door. 

Instead of sleeping however, George passes by the fireplace and examines the sword. 

_Sturdy. Definitely not the best one Sapnap has but it is made out of fine metal. Metal from his kingdom’s ores_ , George scoffs. He can see a distorted reflection of himself in the blade of the sword that glistens from the fire. 

_God, I look awful_ , George thinks. His eyes are sunken into his face and his eye bags have become considerably darker, but it’s not surprising to him.

George sets the blade down in front of the fireplace again, careful not to forget its position on the couch. He climbs into bed, under the sheets where it is cozy and warm in stark contrast to the freezing night air. The warmth wraps around him and he snuggles into the pillow before, momentarily, the fire gives out and lets out a faint ashen scent. The room is still warm George notes, but it will get colder.

Unfortunately, he is unable to sleep and desperately, he tries to convince himself to just close his eyes and get at least a few hours or something that will make his appearance more presentable tomorrow. Shuffling back and forth, George finally finds a comfortable position to sleep: on his side, facing his left wall.

The left wall.

Underneath the connecting door on the left wall, there is a slight glow. 

_Dream’s not asleep yet_ , George notes. _Of course he’s not. Probably making up some other plan, or sabotaging the Schlatt administration. Of course. He wasn’t self made without any effort._

Lost in his thoughts, George finally snaps out of them when hears the distant echo of Sapnap saying goodnight to Dream. Dream’s door closes with a light creak and he hears Sapnap’s heavy armor retreat down the hall. The lights in the hallway turn off as if all the torches were blown out with one decisive breath. The only source of light remaining is the one under Dream’s room which becomes fainter and fainter as time passes, yet still potent to George in the complete darkness.

Finally, the fire in Dream’s room snuffs out and darkness envelops George. There are no sounds coming from both the corridor and Dream’s room. _Good_.

George rises from his bed and throws the silk sheets off of him. _They were false warmth anyways._ He secures the clasps of his boots and wraps his cloak around himself, fastening any article of clothing he owns. He vaguely remembers another object to arm.

_Sapnap’s sword. It’s near the fireplace,_ he recalls.

He lightly treads over to where the blade has last been placed and picks it up with his delicate hands. The sword is intact just as it had been given to him before. George slowly slides the sword in between his belt and his pants to secure it steadily.

Walking over to his windowsill, George carefully opens the window and gives a small sigh of relief when no sounds emerge from his action. 

_Below is the garden. I am only two floors up. The vines on the side of the castle wall look sturdy._

George throws his leg over the window frame carefully before swinging his other leg over until he is dangling by the wall of the castle. Slowly, he grabs onto the vines and makes his descent close enough to the bushes so that he can jump. He lands softly into the dirt before standing at his full height. A slight gust of wind hits George, but instead of finding it cold, he finds it comforting. He sucks in the freezing air in a deep breath and it feels revitalizing to his lungs.

The stars glow brightly and the moon illuminates the path for him. 

Slowly, with a blade in his hand and a great amount of determination, George makes his way back to his kingdom on foot.


	2. Recklessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst his attempt to escape loneliness in Dream's kingdom, George encounters far more than just his bold act of escape, which could potentially have serious consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda picking up the momentum on the story now and this chapter was extremely fun to write, so enjoy as always!
> 
> tw for blood and panic attacks, just in case! as soon as george thinks he has to apologize to sapnap, there is going to be tw panic attack so feel free to scroll past. and as soon as the person recovers the dagger and as soon as the wound is picked open, tw blood!

The forest is damp and cold, but George doesn’t mind,

_I’m going home. I am going to be free,_ he reminds himself.

George strolls deep into the forest, back from the same way he had arrived to Dream’s kingdom. He doesn’t walk for long, but he’s relishing every second of his freedom even though he should probably make haste and leave the kingdom before sunrise. After all, if he were to be recognized, Dream would probably behead him.

The terrain starts to become more rocky as he progresses and George wishes he had stolen a horse from the stables. _I’ve already stolen Sapnap’s sword so that wouldn’t be a good idea_ , George reminds himself. 

Despite the lack of sleep and lack of emotional break he has gotten over the past day, George feels more invigorated than he has ever before. He’s pretty sure his kingdom is just over the upcoming mountain, as he notes from his bumpy carriage ride here. He carefully treads towards the mountain with a smile slowly forming over his face. 

Suddenly, he hears the sound of branches being crushed under a foot. George stands very still and looks down, removing his foot from where it was a second ago.

There are no branches. 

_Someone else is here_.

George carefully draws his sword out from where it is clasped between his belt and his trousers and he clenches it in front of him with both hands tightly.

The sound of rustling foliage followed by light footsteps emerges from his right and George swivels his head around, eyes straining in the dark to see who could have accompanied him at such a _lovely_ time.

It’s completely dark and his nerves are tingling. He considers pouring all his energy into running away, but ultimately he decides to cautiously approach the area where he had heard the almost unnoticeable sound from. The silence is both deafening and unnerving at once.

Another sound rustles from the trees above him and George’s heart almost gives out. _How can the person move so fast?_ George is beyond bewildered but he attempts to keep his composure still. The bushes behind him rustle and George whips his head around distracted. 

All at once, the person jumps down from the tree and lands in front of George, with a dagger in hand and a black mask on their face. In the pitch black night, it is hard to discern where the person, clothed in full black outerwear, might be. So instead, George acts instinctively, wielding his sword steadily so that it clashes with the dagger in a sharp metal _shing!_

He is severely inexperienced with his sword, but in one decisive sweep, he manages to unarm the person in front of him. George holds the blade to the person's neck while keeping an eye on the dagger that is abandoned on the floor.

“Don’t move.” George demands. “Who are you? Where did you come from?” 

“Aw shit, you’re not gonna like this one,” the person says smugly, raising both of their arms up voluntarily.

George narrows his eyes, but before he can ask anymore questions, the sounds of leaves crunching emerge from behind him.

Without any time to think or react, another person emerges from the shadows and gives a swift kick to George’s back which sends him spiraling to the ground. His vision becomes blurred with tears from the painful impact. He brings his arm up in an attempt to brandish his sword and defend himself, but all too soon, one person sits on his back while the other steps on his sword. One of them reaches for the dagger and smiles.

He is helpless now, alone on the muddy floor of the forest. George considers calling for help, but it is futile. He is too far out from the kingdom grounds to be saved. 

Both of the masked people pin him down and flip him over so that his face points towards the sky. He sucks in a painful breath and tries wriggling his body so that at least one limb is free.

Instead, what he gets as a response is a dagger to his neck.

“Don’t even try.” The muffled person scoffs.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Just stay obedient, then nothing.” The other masked person says. George can feel both pairs of eyes boring at him.

_I will not be held down_ , George thinks angrily. 

He twists his neck so that the dagger is between his teeth and he swivels his neck as fast as he can so that the person holding him down is jolted and the hold on him is released for mere milliseconds. 

A solid boot lands on his forehead in response.

“You know, you’re really bad at listening to instructions. What did we just tell you?”

George grunts heavily, still squirming even under the weight of two people.

“Just let me go!” George shouts.

“And why would we do that? You didn’t listen in the first place,” they point out.

One of the masked people recovers the dagger from George’s mouth and holds it tightly, careful to avoid another incident again, before bringing it close to George’s neck.

The dagger moves its way to George’s skin. And, slowly and painfully, the person drags it along the side of his neck.

It’s a superficial cut, but nonetheless, beads of blood begin to sprout and blossom over his neck. The dark liquid hits the ground in a resounding thud with every drip and slowly it turns into a steady flow, saturating the ground below him with dark crimson. 

“That should get you to listen. If you don’t we might do more.”

George snarls, “If you are planning on taking me hostage, killing me would do no good. There’s no point in a dead hostage,” then, despite the completely false sense of confidence he had used to cover up his fear, George adds, “If you kill me too, there’s sure to be a bounty on your head.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. We didn’t really mean to hurt you, right Karl?” The other person, who George assumes to be Karl, nods vigorously. 

“Yeah, we’re just taking you from entering your kingdom,” Karl says, as if that answer will satisfy George. “When are they gonna be here, Quackity?” Karl asks the other person. 

“Soon, probably.”

His neck is throbbing, and George attempts to stifle a snort in vain. _These people just told me their names_ , he scoffs. _Maybe Dream knows them, that's why,_ he considers instead _._

Moments later, when the sky is nearing sunrise, George hears galloping hooves and wheels crushing foliage approach the three of them. _It’s a carriage_ , George processes. _They’re gonna take me back._

Both Karl and Quackity lift George up and heave him into the carriage before they assume their place next to him inside the tiny wooden vehicle. Though the blood has long coagulated and remained to an irregular drip, George still feels slightly dizzy sitting up in the bumpy cart.

“You can go now!” Karl signals to the driver, who in response nudges the horses and gets them on the trail.

Karl and Quackity indulge in a very hearty conversation. _Must be fun succeeding in what they wanted,_ George thinks enviously. The sunrise emerges over the hill as the carriage continues to carry them away.

_The night has been too long_ , George thinks wearily. He hasn’t gotten much sleep or a break at all since he entered Dream’s kingdom and now he has to prepare himself for the great reckoning Dream will give him once he gets back. _Should’ve just let me leave_.

The lack of rest catches up with George momentarily, leaving him feeling like he was crushed by thousands of bricks. George starts to become drowsy in the carriage not long after the sun has peeked from behind the mountains; he knows there is nothing he can do anymore. His neck is sore and his head feels awfully faint. _Please, just let me be free_ , George begs internally before dozing off into an uncomfortable sleep. 

  
  


George awakes later, when the sun has risen high enough in the sky for him to deduce that he has been sleeping for hours.

“Sleeping Beauty has awakened!” Quackity exclaims, laughing with Karl. 

George blearily rubs his eyes to clear his vision from his short sleep. He can’t even move his head at all. His neck is positively swollen and the blood that ran from his neck down to his shoulders makes his shirt stick very uncomfortably. 

They are all still in the carriage, George realizes. _How long have I slept? Clearly very long. Did they go take a break?_

All of the sudden, George feels very unnerved. _I couldn’t have walked all this way on foot in the night. I know I didn’t go very far. Why’s it taking so long to go back to the castle?_

He sits upright with caution and fear very quickly and Karl and Quackity turn to look at him.

“Where are we going? I can’t have travelled that far, why aren’t we at the castle yet?” George questions, his words laced with fear.

Both Karl and Quackity look at him with total confusion before Karl perks up as if he’s realized something. 

“Oh George, we’re not taking you back to Dream! We’re taking you across the kingdom to Schlatt!” Karl smiles.

George’s blood runs cold and he feels as if he is paralyzed with fear. _The Schlatt Administration is almost 200 miles from the castle. How do I get back?_ _What are they going to do to me?_

He checks his side, between his belt and his trousers, but Sapnap’s sword is gone unsurprisingly. 

_Great, and I have to apologize to Sapnap. If I ever see him again,_ he includes. George runs a hand through his hair before his lungs seize up.

Not a panic attack right now, no, he can’t handle it. George’s whole body aches and he begins breathing with much trouble; before he knows it, the air is unable to reach his lungs. He is falling apart at his seams, the stress of the past day far too much for his brain to endure. He weakly grips the side of the carriage, attempting to ground himself. 

Both men look over instantaneously, sensing something is wrong. 

“Hey man, everything’s gonna be okay. We’re not here to hurt you. Schlatt’s not going to either. I doubt he has any interest in you personally anyways. He shares a border with Dream, not you, so I wouldn’t worry so much.” Quackity reassures George.

Karl moves his arm so that he is rubbing George’s back slowly, aiding him.

“Don’t worry, we're just gonna bring you over and you’ll probably leave by the end of the day.” Karl winks, “Your _knight in shining armor_ is going to come _save_ you!” he coos. 

“But, in all seriousness George, it’s past noon and if they haven’t noticed you are gone yet I’d be concerned for how protected you actually are in the kingdom. They’re probably looking for you now as well, so it won’t be long before you can get a peaceful night.” Quackity adds.

As much as Quackity and Karl try to convince him, George doesn’t even want to begin to know what would happen to him after Dream retrieves him. However, with Karl and Quackity’s sympathy, he is able to calm himself and breathe a little.

“That’s right, breathe in and out,” Karl guides.

“Thanks.” George manages to squeeze out. Ironic how the ones holding him hostage are treating him better than Dream he examines wryly. _Perhaps I should just stay here._

  
  


As the day becomes late afternoon, and they’ve crossed the border into the Schlatt Administration covertly, Karl and Quackity begin to unbox food, but the smell of it hits George and makes him nauseous. He’s lost his appetite. 

Then, suddenly, the carriage comes to a halt. Karl and Quackity secure their arms around George so that he cannot move and they slowly lift him out of the carriage, minding his stiff neck. George has never actually seen the Schlatt Administration before, and to his surprise, the center is nowhere as grandiose as he would expect a nation with as much success as Schlatt’s to have. In the place of what should be a castle, there is a flat command center. _Ah, this country rules militarily,_ he recalls.

Right at the entrance to the command center, Karl and Quackity stand still, awaiting further instruction while holding George from an impossible escape. And behind him from the staircase, emerges Schlatt himself, donning a black three piece suit and a red tie (very modern clothing might he add). Karl and Quackity immediately move one hand to salute.

“Hello George.” Schlatt addresses with a wicked smile spanning across most of his face. “Your prince is coming very soon. We have notified him of your status this morning. They were enraged to say the least when they saw that you left your beautiful bedroom. That wasn’t a very kind move as a guest.”

“What are you going to do with us?” George questions, disregarding that he is demanding such bold answers when he is absolutely powerless.

Schlatt nevertheless, answers wholeheartedly. “Simple, you are here to make negotiations for me.” He walks toward George slowly, his shoes clacking on the hard marble floor in every step until he is in front of George. 

George strains his neck to avoid Schlatt and divert his gaze. 

“Careful I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Schlatt picks at the flakey dried blood until the wound reopens again with another steady stream of blood. “Ouch! That’s gotta hurt!” he adds, cooing at George. He uses a finger and lifts George’s chin to face and look up at him, which only sends another spurt of blood gushing from his wound and splattering onto his white shirt that is being soaked rather quickly.

“Thank you for your selfishness. It was extremely kind of you to follow my exact predictions and allow us to come this far.” Schlatt smiles sinisterly, before dropping George’s head down. 

Shortly after, one soldier marches into the hall of the command center and passes Schlatt a salute and a short bow. 

“President Schlatt, Dream and his subordinate have just arrived at the main gate.”

“Perfect timing!” Schlatt exclaims, his smile turning upwards. “Let them in.”

In what seems like forever, Dream finally enters where George is and behind him follows Sapnap, both of their faces unreadable, and even though he can’t even see Dream’s face, he imagines it to be fuming right about now under that revolting mask.

“Sapnap, go get George.” Dream demands aggressively.

As soon as Sapnap takes his first step, Karl holds his dagger to George’s neck, poised in a position to slice his windpipe and potentially kill him.

“Very good Karl!” Schlatt laughs. “If you approach any closer, he will be dead tonight, and you can personally write the date on his gravestone. Ah! Maybe you can write a wonderful epitaph too, I imagine. Traitor. Weak prince. Son of a bitch.” Schlatt gestures, his hands extravagantly opening in front of him as if he were about to hug them all.

Dream stands very still, his body becoming taut, and Sapnap looks back at Dream for some form of guidance or next command.

“Back down, Sapnap.” Dream orders. He sighs, “Schlatt, what do you want in exchange for George.”

“I want to annex your nation,” Schaltt says devilishly, dropping his arms behind his back.

“Go ahead and kill him then. I would rather let him die and assume war with George’s kingdom than to have you rule mine.”

“Feisty are we? You never change.”

“I am simply staying loyal to my people. You can do away with him for all I care because I will not risk my nation for a rebellious asshole.”

“Hm, fair enough!” Schlatt considers. “Then just simply remove your troops from my grounds.”

George’s vision blurs and suddenly, his tense body slacks a little under Quackity and Karl’s grip. His head swirls and his limbs feel like they are filled with lead, a truly unpleasant feeling. He can barely register what Dream is saying and what Sapnap is doing. 

_The blood loss, hunger, and fatigue have finally caught up to me_ , he thinks. His weight is too much for Quackity and Karl to hold up alone and they sink to the ground with him.

Schlatt eyes this spectacle with great amounts of enthusiasm and interest as Dream mutters a hastened agreement before rushing to George’s side.

George is barely conscious but he knows for certain he is being manhandled right now. Roughly, Dream is quickly unpinning his cloak and dabbing the cloth at the blood before holding it against his neck to staunch the blood from streaming out even further. 

His ears feel waterlogged and Dream sounds very muffled to him though he is right by his side. He hears a distant call for Sapnap to retrieve the horses before total darkness consumes his vision and leaves him unaware of his surroundings.

  
  


George wakes up much later, on horseback, his arms loosely wrapped around a figure. He hears the metal plates of armor clink as the horse jostles them on the rocky terrain. _There is no dried blood on my neck and my hands,_ George observes. _Odd._

Head pounding and breath uneven, George turns his head upwards.

A white headband.

He sighs a breath of relief. He’s not at the command center anymore. He’s going back to a place where he can at least be at peace.

“George’s up!” Sapnap calls to Dream over the loud sound of hooves contacting the ground. 

They stop for a moment, off near a very thick trunked tree, and they disembark the horses before Sapnap slowly guides George off. None of them are making eye contact and they are mostly silent. _Well I screwed up magnificently_ , George thinks. 

Dream passes Sapnap a compass and a canteen of water in which Sapnap guides George to drink.

“Don’t drink it all at once. And don’t strain your neck further.” Sapnap says coldly. 

"Here's a compass so you know where we're going." Sapnap tosses him the golden compass. George opens it with great fragility, careful not to scratch the gold or its delicate craftsmanship. On the interior of the golden cover, he can see a slight engraving that glistens by its edges, but it is far too dark to decipher what is written. He pockets the compass with great care, before facing Sapnap.

Out of everything he can say, George chooses probably the least important reply and completely ignores the current situation. 

“I’m sorry I lost your sword, Sapnap.”

“It’s fine. I have others. But, there is only one you. And you almost cost us peace today.” Sapnap mutters, taking a deep breath, while passing George some bread.

“Eat this. You’re probably starving. You need to last the long trip.”

George obeys, not wanting to cause any more harm or disruption. He is thankful they had come to retrieve him even with such a large expanse of land separating the Schlatt Administration and Dream's kingdom. 

The night is particularly warm tonight, despite it being late November. The moon outlines the silhouette of the forest in front of them and if he squints, stars appear far off in the black sky. _It's a calming sight to see_ , George thinks. He glances over to Dream, who has not yet acknowledged his presence. He doesn’t even look at George once and somehow that leaves George feeling uneasy and guilty of his brash actions.

“Come here, Spirit.” Dream says quietly to his white horse. _Spirit is a fitting name for such a beautiful horse_ , George thinks. Dream feeds Spirit with carrots and pets its mane carefully with a deep affection that George didn’t know Dream was capable of.

He stares.

And, it takes a long time for him to break his fixation on the sight before him.

At last, once they have taken their breaks, Dream mounts his horse and waits on standby for Sapnap and George to do the same. They begin to ride under the moonlight again, back to the castle, back to Dream’s kingdom.

Overwhelmed, George glances over at Dream, who is focused on the return, before he rests his forehead on Sapnap’s back and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will try to post regularly because i do have a lot of significant plot points stuck in my mind. if you made it this far, thank you for reading :)) it means a lot to me !!


	3. Restoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harboring feelings of regret, George slowly accustoms himself to castle life, but that does not come without challenges and even more danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy, sorry this took longer than expected, but this chapter is significantly longer than the others. thank you guys so much for the kudos and comments! it means so much to me :) as always enjoy!

Their return comes in efficiency and the three of them reach the castle right before dusk. Quietly, Sapnap seizes the reins of his black horse and gently pulls them backwards so that he and George are in front of the castle gate. Dream halts alongside them with Spirit, staring far off into the distance, remaining on his horse. _They’re probably going to head to the stables. I want to go as well,_ George hesitates. _No, it’s best if I comply today._

Surprisingly, Dream is not immediately shouting at his incompetence to keep up their agreement once they have safely made the journey and George is extremely unnerved. He has internally prepared himself the entire journey yet he has not evoked a single response. 

Sapnap brings George inside beyond the stoic guards and into a drawing room to where Bad, frantically turning his head over, is already awaiting their arrival. 

“Oh my god, George.” Bad emphasizes, eyeing the wound. “What have you done to yourself?” 

George drops his head down slightly, ashamed to even meet Bad’s eye. _The only person who resembled a friend. He probably hates me now and I’ve ruined it._ George is miserable beyond comprehension; the pit in his stomach only grows overtime, leaving him uneasy.

Breaking him from his trance, Sapnap gives George a light pat on his shoulder before gently nudging his back to follow Bad. He gives George a slight nod before retreating once more to Dream. 

George and Bad are left alone now and George feels a heavy air set in, threatening to suffocate the both of them.

“I’m not mad at you, George. I would have understood why you could have done that, but please you can’t throw us into a panic like that.” Bad adds, “If you wanted to go outside, I could have accompanied you.” 

It feels like an arrow to the heart, like someone has plunged it into George’s chest and twisted it in an awfully cruel manner. 

“I’m sorry,” is all that leaves George’s lips. 

“You must be exhausted,” Bad sighs deeply. “I’ll let you go off once you clean that nasty wound of yours.”

George responds with a mere nod and follows Bad through a series of hallways. They stop in front of a courtyard, which is outlined by white marble pillars and wild weeds. Indeed it’s a sight to behold; so modern, yet so natural. 

Bad leads them into a tiny room adjacent to the courtyard. The night sky has well risen and the stars are barely discernible but still there. _At least one thing hasn't changed._

Very kindly, Bad seats George in a wooden chair in the small room, which he notes to be somewhat of a cross between an infirmary and office. There are cloth bandages and bottles of disinfectant lining the wall. A sword, like Sapnap’s, rests on the windowsill, the sharp edge illuminated. 

And, he notes, in the corner of the shelf sits a yellowed picture of a very adolescent Bad and Dream at the market, Bad looking particularly bothered and Dream’s face obscured by the mask hauntingly.

“Since I teach how to use the sword, I know how to deal with wounds,” Bad smiles wryly, drawing George’s attention. “It comes in handy in situations like these.”

“And, out there in the courtyard is where we will have lessons. Pretty breathy, huh?” Bad turns his head towards the window, pausing his actions for a few seconds.

George’s eyes are getting glassy. _Why? How can someone I practically betrayed still be so nice?_ George thinks wearily.

“Yeah, it’s actually quite nice.” George admits. “I think I would like it.”

Bad shoots George a wide smile before soaking a cloth with disinfectant. Carefully, he cleans George’s wound out. The liquid is cold and it stings against the cut, sending George jolting. _I deserve that,_ he winces. 

Once the wound has been cleaned, Bad wraps his neck in bandages loosely.

“All done!” Bad then explains, “I know it might be uncomfortable but it’s to prevent an infection. You might want to change them ever so often so if you need help, I’m always here. And, if you want to do it alone, you have my full permission to come down here.”

“Thank you,” George responds gratefully. Internally, he admits that Bad is probably an angel descended in the kingdom despite his heavily contradicting name.

“I’ll let you get some rest now. You must be so tired.” Bad says, opening the door and leading them out into the late November air.

George glances at the photo once more before leaving, remembering the expressions on their faces and their interaction.

“So, how was the Schlatt administration?” Bad asks, hoping to ignite a conversation while leading them into the East wing.

“Terrifying, as expected. I’m so glad I don’t share a border with them.”

Bad laughs genuinely. “Yeah, it must be nice not having to be on the edge of war at all times or stressing over the next move against them.”

George passes a slight smile. They have made their way to the East wing and unsurprisingly, the guards stationed outside shoot George a discreet look of disgust. He shivers and walks closer towards Bad.

They make their way back into George’s room once more and Bad stands, leaning on the doorframe of the main door. _Everything is left untouched_ , he stares. A fire has been started in his room already and from the looks of it, it has not been burning for long. _It’s not as cold_ , he realizes before turning his attention away.

He glances over to the wooden door connecting his room and Dream’s. There is a fire cracking from the other side as well. _He’s there too._ He glances upwards towards the handle of the door.

George freezes noticeably. 

The door is slightly open. 

The look of confusion on George’s face must be apparent as Bad gestures towards the door in some sort of explanation.

“We can’t have a repeat of you leaving again. Safety first.”

George is forming incoherent noises with his jaw opening and closing, looking back and forth between Bad and the light peeking out from behind the heavy door.

“Won’t he hear us? Won’t I hear him? No privacy?” He whispers to Bad, minding the fact that the door is about ten degrees away from the wall.

_The most private person in this kingdom is willing to open his_ **_bedroom_ ** _door to this rebellious asshole that just wasted time for him;_ George is in disbelief. _Well politics first,_ he corrects himself.

“It shouldn’t matter,” Bad answers, “Unless you really want to overthrow the kingdom and intend on monologuing your plans.” 

Bad yawns and waves to George. “I think it’s time I go to rest as well. See you tomorrow. Goodnight, George.”

“Goodnight, Bad.” George says waving as Bad leaves the room and shuts the door behind him. 

In retrospection, George sighs at the thought of the events of the past few days. He is unbearably tired and worn out. Preparing himself for a finally peaceful sleep, George begins to change into the nightwear prepared for him in the closet. 

By a narrow margin, George almost misses the weight in his pocket. 

Almost.

Carefully, he sinks a hand into the pocket and fishes out a cold heavy object. George sucks in a breath as he uncovers the object from the enclosed fabric.

_Dream’s compass._ _I still have it._

As if he suddenly remembers the first time he opened the compass, George yanks open the compass without hesitation and with skyrocketing interest. His heart is pounding for no apparent reason and he feels the adrenaline course through his veins. The engraving is much more legible in the well lit room and George focuses his attention to read it. 

_It’s not in a language I know_ , he pauses. _Though the word order looks like it is in Latin_. He is washed with regret for not having taken the time to learn Latin when he was younger. George groans internally, extremely disappointed that yet another opening to Dream could have been sealed so quickly.

_Maybe I can ask Bad tomorrow._

Instead of returning what looks like to be an extremely prized possession, he places the compass in the bottom drawer of his table before settling into bed.

The crack of the door is reduced to a slight sliver, but he can still make out sounds from the other side. George hears what seems to be a distant furious scribbling on parchment and the crinkling of pages turning.

George sits up on his mattress attempting to listen more, giving his bedsheets a slight ruffle and his bed a despicable creak.

“Sapnap, go check on him,” he hears Dream order lowly, the scribbling on parchment pausing. “Make sure that he isn’t attempting anything again.”

He freezes and almost instantly drops down into bed, cautiously being silent, as he hears Sapnap rise from a sitting position. His heart is pumping unbelievably fast as he swiftly turns his head away from the door, moments before he can feel Sapnap’s presence peeking through the door. _Thank god the armor is so loud or I would’ve been caught looking at them,_ George thinks.

“Don’t worry, he’s asleep,” Sapnap calls lightly. His thudding footsteps retreat from the door and George lets out the breath that he had been holding.

“Good, we can resume.” He hears Dream say faintly.

“So what was I saying about next steps and the South?”

“Allies. Maybe discreet annexation of land. Maybe we can move in troops slowly through there so that it's unnoticeable.” Sapnap whispers.

George feels his blood running cold and his fingertips numbing. He’s not certain he wants to listen to their conversation anymore as a deep seed of regret plants into his stomach. _They’re covering up my mess._ Wearily, George rubs his eyes before resting in an uncomfortable sleep.

-

The ground is falling beneath him, his kingdom aflame with raging, uncontrollable fires. People, his citizens, are screaming desperately avoiding the flames from arson. He sees the butcher he had befriended as a child lying under a collapsed building. His political studies teacher is wailing, clutching the ground on all fours. George is looking around frantically, trying to call a stop to the chaos and panic.

The last of the wisteria trees have burnt up and ashes are falling from the reddened sky, as if a volcano had erupted and the rubble had descended upon his kingdom. One child shouts “snow” before choking on the ashes, unable to breathe. George feels sick. 

Behind him, he hears his father calling for him distantly with agony lacing his words in every enunciation. Instantly, George sprints to his father, the fumes and smoke of the fires filling up his lungs.

“George! We need to get out!” He hears his father call as he picks up the pace to where his father is. “George!”

As he approaches the scene, the sight becomes more revolting, sending George in a wave of nausea and an imminent migraine.

His father starts to sink into the ground, limbs fusing together and skin practically melting off his bones. George regurgitates instantly, the bile burning his throat and his body weakly collapsing to the ground, into all the soot and ashes. 

“George! What happened to ruling with peace! What happened to saving this kingdom? Look at what you’ve done.”

No words are escaping George’s mouth as much as he tries to express an apology. He looks his father into his face to find a horrifying sight. His eyes are gouged out, leaving empty sockets and tears flowing down his cheeks.

“Look at what you’ve done. George.”

-

His body jolts awake, his throat raw and his head throbbing. The bed has consumed him completely, blankets twisted around his body in a tight coil and mattress swallowing his limbs. George can hardly breathe as his eyes adjust to the dawn flooding the room. He lets out a silent sob and clutches the blankets with such ferociousness they might tear. 

With a high concentration and intensity, George whips his head around. _I’m in my bed. In the castle. Nothing is in flames. The door is still there._ George grounds himself, letting his head sink into his hands for moments before looking up again.

The morning light barely leaks through the window as the sun makes its grand entrance over the horizon. 

George glances over to the door once more. _Sapnap has left_ , George assumes astutely. _The sound of writing is still there though_ , he notes. _Has Dream been up all night?_ _Probably to fix my recklessness_. 

Embarrassingly enough, George is soaked with sweat. His white shirt has become slightly transparent from the fear of the nightmare and his hair clings to his forehead.

_I should go take a shower,_ George considers. He sorts out a plain tunic and baggy trousers before heading to the bathroom across the hall. _Pragmatic today. I’m going to be sword fighting_ , he sighs.

He exits the room and shuts the door behind him carefully before casually stepping a foot forward and glancing upwards. 

Dream is in front of him. 

He stares, completely bewildered at the _wonderful_ timing that they seemed to leave their room and coincide at the same moment. His mouth hinges open, the inflection of his voice raised a pitch higher, poised and prepared to utter a terse apology.

Instead of any acknowledgement or concern for George, however, Dream brushes past George, leaving goosebumps raised across his skin, and out of the East wing. 

George is left alone in the corridor now, standing still and clutching his clothes to his chest far too tightly, as if in a way to constrict any oxygen from leaving his lungs. His stomach feels bottomless, his fingers are numbing, his body seems far too infinitesimal in such a cruel, cruel world.

The sweat has dried off into a moist chill, guilt flooding his body more than he has been previously soaked by the nightmare. And, desperately George is yearning for warmth and consolation.

He heads to the shower, despair consuming him whole as he turns the crisp golden knob.

Hot water and steam engulfs the room and submerges his existence into a warm and comforting touch. It is almost as if someone had put their warm palms up against his back and enveloped him in an intimate hug. 

Allowing the warm water to wash over his skin and return sensation to his body, George watches as the water fleets and disappears down the drain carrying all the suds and grime along with it. This. This was the most warmth he had felt upon arriving at the castle. 

George laughs despite himself. _I’m touch-starved. How can I be this lonely?_

-

He sees Bad near the courtyard shortly after his extremely comforting shower. His hair has not yet dried completely and the wisps of wind that flow and curve around the pillars lull him into reality once more.

Bad is reading a rather thick novel, words dizzyingly sprawled over page after page in the aged leather bound cover. Upon noticing George’s arrival, Bad closes the book and abandons it on the ledge of his windowsill. 

“Wait here, George.” Bad smiles.

George settles near the windowsill outside the tiny infirmary and awaits Bad’s further instruction. Natural curiosity leads him to glimpse at the book title quickly. 

The door from the infirmary opens once more and Bad walks out, two swords in hand, sending George in a reflexive startle.

“If you want to read, I can take you to the library later,” Bad offers.

“Yes, please.” George breathes. Inadvertently, Bad is the solitary individual who is consistently kind to him and heartwarming. 

Bad passes George a sword, one that is considerably lighter than the one he had borrowed (and lost) off of Sapnap. 

“It’s lighter so you can handle it easier, but in that way it's also easy to lose control.”

George nods with understanding. He follows Bad into the center of the courtyard on the tiled, polished stone bricks, holding his sword delicately as to not swing it accidentally.

“Alright, so if you extend your arm outwards with sword in hand, you can parry most downward diagonal cuts or thrusts or high horizontal attacks coming from the left to the right.” Bad instructs, demonstrating with his own blade.

He feels the fear rising in his body, as if it were steam rising that preoccupies his whole existence. Suddenly, memories of the events from the night he was taken flash before his eyes, sending his vision spiraling. His arms are shaking uncontrollably and his legs are folding on top of each other; his mind is rejecting the use of a sword, no matter how much his body is fighting.

And, in his peripheral vision, he spots Dream, who is unaccompanied by Sapnap, overlooking the pitiful spectacle of a lesson. 

_I rule with peace. If I cannot use a sword, I cannot rule with peace_ , George grits in an attempt to situate his mind. _I have to prove myself, if I ever want to go out again_.

Instantaneously, George confidently swings his sword in the same demonstration that Bad had shown him prior. 

“Very good!” Bad exclaims delightedly at George’s successful attempt. 

“Now, if you want to try something more discreet, you can try a low attack! Low attacks are parried by turning the wrist so that it faces outwards and sweeping the attack aside.” Bad says, presenting another example.

_I want to prove myself._ George prepares a swing yet again with confidence, forgetting the weight of his sword in his hands. He swings the sword with full force and the torque in his hips propelling the force. 

The blade does not imitate a successful maneuver as it did before. The recklessness and heavy mindset George had housed was bound for a mistake. 

It makes light contact with Bad’s calf and slices the flesh tenderly.

Despite Bad exhibiting no signs of pain or enragement, he winces slightly at the contact. George drops his sword instantly, letting the steel clatter to the grayed cobble before his entire body is overcome with regret and fear.

“Are you okay?” George asks, fear enveloping him. His heart is beating rather too quickly and secondly, realization has set in that Dream has overlooked this situation. George feels despair all at once. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine!” Bad says rather happily for someone who had just been injured lightly. “This is common, don't stress it too much.”

George lends his shoulder to Bad, to which he gratefully accepts and they limp into the infirmary together, disregarding Dream’s increasingly tense presence behind them.

“Hey, you feel awfully warm. I can feel panic radiating off of you. Don’t stress it. I promise.” Bad notices. “I could teach you how to treat wounds too now!” He adds cheerfully. 

“I’ll probably mess it up.” George sullenly replies.

“Don’t think like that!” Bad waves his hand. “Grab the disinfectant and a cloth. Grab a piece of fabric while you’re at it.”

George obeys immediately as Bad probs his leg up on a spare chair. 

“First things first, stop the blood flow. You can use a piece of fabric or a band to make a tourniquet and staunch the flow. After that, you want to disinfect and cover to avoid infection. Simple!” Bad guides George carefully. “And, if the blood flow is bad, you want to seek attention immediately or suture stitch the wound.”

“Thank you,” George replies gratefully, thankful that Bad is kind regardless of the situation.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today, but I can take you to the library.” Bad grins. 

“Are you sure you can walk in this state?” 

“Of course, you barely hurt me compared to others!”

George eyes the yellowed picture in the corner once more before following Bad out the room and into the broad daylight once more. He diverts his attention to behind him and glances over.

Dream is gone.

“Funny enough, the library is actually in the West wing, so you can visit it anytime!” Bad explains.

They walk to the wings without any difficulty and Bad gives a short acknowledgement to one of the guards. 

“Hi Punz! Glad you’re stationed here today! How long is your shift?”

Who George assumes to be Punz behind a large metal helmet answers, “I’m going to be at the West wing until night and I’ll switch to the East wing.” He adds, “Hi Prince George.”

“Hello.” George answers awkwardly, short and sweet.

They proceed into the West wing until they stop in front of a set of large double doors. The wood is browned and slightly dilapidated, the gold handles slightly aged from use. Bad pushes the door with much force and holds it open so that George may follow him in.

The sight is nothing short of grand. A glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling precariously, glistening in the torch light of the ancient library. There are old worn leather and patterned chairs lying around. A staircase leads up to the second floor of the library to which a sunroof dons the ceiling and allows natural light to flood in. All the books are leather bound, titles flaunting on the spines of the books with embellished golden letters. 

It reminds George of the engraving on the compass. _The compass._

“Hey Bad, do you know how to read Latin?”

“Not a chance. Only the royal family has gotten formal education in that.” He includes. “You didn’t learn?”

“Not particularly.”

George spies the corner where a stack of chosen books have already been placed next to a couch and a large map of their kingdoms covers the couch.

“You’re free to explore, but I can tell you where books are,” Bad invites George. George pauses. _I want to know._

“Where do you keep books on where to read Latin?” George asks timidly.

“We only have a few of those as it is the king’s language. But lucky for you I know where it is!”

Leading George into an immensely discreet corner, he pulls out a thin, ancient book from the shelf and dusts the cover off prior to handing it to George.

“I’m going to go back to the infirmary soon, but you can stay and take some to your room, George.”

“Thank you so much, and I’m sorry about earlier.” George hears his own voice saying.

“No problem and no worries!” Bad replies before exiting, the door closing with a decisive thud. 

With a piquing interest in the books, George begins to examine the spines of the books. _Their collection here is so much larger. It’s actually quite nice._ With his delicate fingertips, George carefully extracts books on this kingdom’s history and he swipes his hand over the smooth covers. The books in his arms accumulate to a fair amount before he hears the door creak open carefully.

George turns his head around to face the doors.

Dream is there, entering into the position of the couch, mask perched delicately on his face as always. 

In an attempt to reconcile with the events of the past week, George shifts slowly to face Dream. Dream looks up sharply at George, both of them stopping their movements decisively. George opens his mouth to voice his formal apology, but it is Dream who speaks first.

“How are you, possibly the most incompetent person to exist, a prince?”

George is taken aback, the words setting through his ears, leaving him ashamed that he had ever considered an apology in the first place.

“I rule with peace not wars. I don’t sit on a pile of dead bodies.” George lashes back, contempt and anger seeping into his voice. 

“Selfish. Reckless. Weak. Asshole. I could go on.” Dream articulates with a controlled, even, yet cold voice. "You couldn't even swing a sword," he scoffs.

“I’m not the one with a mask on his face that never cares about anybody. There’s a reason why you’re at war with Schlatt but I can remain at peace with L’Manburg even if it is my hostile border enemy.” George enunciates through his teeth. He is beyond rage at the sudden bold outburst Dream is having. _I will not tolerate it today_ . _If he starts it, I am going to end it._

“Shut up. Don’t act like you don’t depend on this agreement more than I do. You are insignificant to me.” Dream’s voice is growing colder and he is talking rashly, George notes. _I want to break him. I want to crack him so that he is unrepairable and so that even with a mask he will break._

George could face severe consequences but he doesn’t care, he pushes against the invisible wall fortified by both of them.

“You still took me anyway. And, if I go down, I’m dragging you down with me. And, it seems as if Schlatt has the upper hand with you now. You can't afford me and my allies as an enemy. Your kingdom will collapse on itself.”

“Should’ve let you to die to Schlatt’s hands. There was a reason your father was eager to throw you out.” 

_Dream’s voice is seething right now._ George relishes every second of human behavior he can extract from Dream, enjoying this much more than just his omnipresent silent stares. Before George can throw back another shrewd retort, Dream ends their conversation vehemently. 

“If you don’t stay in your place in _my_ kingdom, I will _burn_ your kingdom alive and make sure nobody lives.” Dream spits out. “Don’t act like only your life is on the line. Everyone will suffer because of you. Because guess what, your favorite teacher? Your advisor? Your friend? Your family? _Gone_.”

Dream slams his fist into the stack of books and sends it collapsing, spines upwards, pages sprawled out and crushed under the weight of one another, parchment tearing in one harsh movement.

“ _Just. Like. That._ ”

George sees a fleeting vision of his nightmare from last night, his kingdom burning in chaos, and his head pounds from Dream’s raised voice and sudden show of force. He feels a wave of sickness wash over him and he’s certain he has vertigo, but he does not back down. 

In one swift movement, George drops all his books and seizes Dream by his collar, all his strength put into holding Dream to where he is.

“If you gaslight me,” George rages, “I will set the gas on fire.” 

His teeth clench down, grinding so hard that he can feel his jaw start to sore; his grip on Dream’s collar tightens, almost certain he wants to choke him and make sure he never sees the light of day again. 

Dream is entirely in his hands now, surrendering and yielding to George's movements. George cannot see his face but knows Dream’s eyes are trained into his soul, almost rendering his feelings transparent. Their faces are unbelievably close and George’s nose is inches away from the mask.

_Fucking smiley mask._ His thoughts are running untamed in his head and a wave of dizziness washes him over once more. He loses his hold on Dream's collar and shoves him to the side aggressively before picking up his books and marching out of the library, flinging the door behind him shut in a resounding bang. 

Tears prickle in his eyes and he’s only halfway down the corridor to his abysmal, lonely room before he feels sick. The wall is not doing much to support him and his breath is ragged. It's almost certain a panic attack is setting in. 

George makes his way to his room with much difficulty and slams the door connecting their rooms. The recoil shakes the door frame and locks the heavy door instantaneously. He takes the books and shoves it in the drawer alongside the compass and rams his foot against the drawer so that the wooden desk wavers noticeably. 

His breathing has calmed down considerably as he no longer has to bear sight to anything remotely related to Dream. 

A fire has already been stoked in his room, but he knows undoubtedly that no matter the circumstance he will never feel warmth in this kingdom as long as Dream rules. He falls into an early slumber, before the sun has even set, extremely enraged and feelings of unpleasant sickness rising.

-

George wakes up not much later, sleep having worn off his torment of emotions. He has almost forgotten what had happened at the library. It's completely dark outside and the fire in his room has been reduced to slight glowing embers of charcoal and dry wood. He digs a candle out of his drawer and lights it with the remaining flames. 

He glances over at the door. It is still shut from his impulsive action. _Good_. There is indeed no light from under it as well. George breathes out. 

Setting the candle down, George opens the bottom drawer in a deep breath and takes out the Latin book and the compass.

He nonchalantly flips through pages on _declensions_ and _verb endings_ and _the pluperfect_ , attempting to absorb something about Latin to decipher the engraving, but all he can think about was his outburst this afternoon.

The main door opens behind him, blowing out the candle with a slight gust of wind. He closes the book and pockets the compass, not wanting the valuable object to be taken. _It must be Sapnap._

“Yeah, I’ll sleep,” he breathes out, already moving to his bed.

The person behind him makes an effort to make no sound before coming in the room and quietly closing the door behind them.

“Sapnap, I told you I’ll sleep, you can go.” George says with a twinge of annoyance on his tongue.

George’s words fall silent and his body freezes when he turns around. There is a fully armored knight behind him, face indistinguishable through the metal shielded helmet. 

George moves his mouth to let out a scream, but the knight clasps their hand over George’s mouth firmly. 

“Don’t speak.” The knight whispers, unsheathing a sword from its hold in the armor. Using the sword to pull open the window, the knight holds George in a firm, inescapable grip. The knight carries George out the window and they land in the garden below. 

He lets out a muffled scream and gathers all the air he can before releasing it as a shrill shriek on the top of his lungs. He whips his head frantically back towards the castle.

In the distance, he can see a blurry silhouette of Dream’s face from his own window, without his mask on as if just woke up. He sees Dream’s indiscernible features contort and seize up before Dream quickly disappears from the window in a matter of minutes. 

_Please_ , George thinks. He slowly relents and shoves his hand into his pocket. _I’ll have to do it if I want to be found._

He drops the compass in the middle of the grass and stops his thrashing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear it seems like a cycle and george is always in some kind of danger, but he is a prince with a bounty after all and of even more value of protection after the last escapade. but, this time it will be a turning point :) so stick around ! so much more is to come <3


	4. Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is slow, but forgiveness is fast. George explores the possibility of a new friendship, one that may heal him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> firstly, THANK YOU FOR ALL THE KUDOS AND COMMENTS, it means so much to me to see the support. seeing the 100+ kudos on my writing leaves me so grateful, and i thank you all for that!
> 
> secondly, i apologize that this chapter took a week to write. it was one of the hardest to plan (also the longest one by far) but the most fun to write! i also have been planning a one-shot (doesn't take place in this au) on the side :)
> 
> if you're still here, thank you so much for making it to chapter 4 with me.
> 
> as always, enjoy!

Somehow, George finds himself in what seems to be a safehouse, the wooden planks of the walls dilapidated, molded, and close to collapse. Surprisingly, he is not bound by any rope and he sits perched on the edge of an oak stool. The knight stands before him, holding a flint and steel, lighting up a torch with efficiency. It makes the decaying shack glow with yellow light.

“I know you won’t leave, well you _can’t_ leave.” The knight tells him shortly, through the hollowed armor. The voice that leaves reverberates against the metal, but it is not particularly malicious or unkind. 

“What are you going to do with me?” George questions, raising his eyebrows up. His senses are heightened in preparation of danger. _Probably nothing I can do_ , George admits. He is without weapons and armor.

“I’m not going to do anything to you. I’m just simply claiming what is best for me.” 

The knight extends his arm forward, the metal of the armor scraping in a peeving manner, and presents George with a crinkled, yellowed piece of parchment. 

_Wanted! Alive. Reward: 500 diamonds. Prince George. Age 21. Dark brown hair and brown eyes. Average height. Last seen: leaving castle grounds in late November._

“500 diamonds? For me?” George is beyond bewildered. “Who would even have that much wealth?”

The unknown knight shrugs, pocketing the paper once more. 

“I really didn’t want to do this, but I need the reward. I work at the castle, but I also have friends at my village. One of them is sick and I need him to live.”

“Aren’t you just betraying your kingdom?” George eyes wearily.

“Out here, nobody cares about each other. We’re on the edge of war all the time. We have to survive somehow. And, I’m doing my best.” the knight offered. “I work for myself; I’m sorry.”

They wait in an uncomfortable silence, George on the edge of his seat poised for quick escape if need be. _If it is really necessary, I could use this stool. Worst case scenario._

“I just need to make sure you are transferred over safely, so I won’t hurt you.”

George scoffs noticeably. _You won’t hurt me, but what are the others going to do? I’m always on the brink of danger, yet again._

From the outside, the whine of a horse screeches from a distance and what seems to be several people disembarking onto the solid dirt floor. The knight leaves, eyeing George on the way out, before meeting the newly arrived people to collect his reward. 

With apprehension, George stands up from the stool and carries it in both hands, elbows bent, stool raised above his shoulders, ready to swing. From a distance, he notes the sound of jewels clinking and a sack being passed around and then the torch retreating until he is left in total darkness.

He is alone, the brittle oak chair hovering at his eye level. Surprisingly, George stands confidently, unwavering from the grim fate set out before him. His hands are not shaking and his stance is steady.

The men enter the safehouse shortly, bodies shielded in iron plates and rusted iron axes in hands. George has to contain a bout of laughter. _Are lumberjacks trying to capture me?_

Slowly, the man standing in the front, who seems to be the leader of some sort, beckons with his hand for the others to follow behind him to George. The leader bears an insignia, the faint outline of a skull of a boar. He grins wickedly, gaps of missing teeth showing, a foul sour odor permeating the shack. 

“Come with us,” the vile man cooes, pressing a foot forward tentatively. George throws the stool instead, straight at his perpetrator’s despicable face, before running.

He is screaming on the top of his lungs, releasing what mimics a shrill siren, with almost six men chasing him. It would seem to be an awfully comedic sight to outsiders if they were to catch sight of this brutal manhunt.

George runs until he enters the woods, hiding behind a thicket. As he silences himself, George quickly crouches low, avoiding the possibility of eye level with the six men clearly irate at his bold escapade. 

_Shit. I don’t have the compass. Where do I go?_

From afar, he can hear the leader shouting: “Spread out! He is without artillery! Just get him here!”

With immense caution, George peers up from the bushes, eyes training onto the wandering men, ensuring they don’t enter the vicinity.

A light tap makes contact with his shoulder, sending his body flailing, fists raised ready for a pathetic hand fought battle. He whips his head around in a dizzying manner to face his _lovely_ company.

He looks up. A mask.

Dream is here.

“Close your eyes.” Dream orders intently.

George obeys hesitantly, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slightly parted with dubious surprise. He hears the unclasping of an item, eyes still closed and nerves tingling.

There is a warm item, in the shape of a rounded object, touching his face gently, perched on his nose loosely. Dream grabs his shoulders and turns him around roughly, and clasps the leather straps tightly, to the point where it is uncomfortably constricting. 

_Is he trying to give me a concussion?_

Dream leaves as quickly as he came, unsheathing a sword, with nothing on his back but a bare white shirt. 

_It’s warm_ , George notes. _And, it smells like vanilla._

His face heats up instantly, his cheeks aflame and breath warm. He knows his whole face would have been seen red and he silently thanks the covering for protecting his dignity.

He’s wearing Dream’s mask.

He cannot see at all, the mask unfit for his features, but in the distance he hears the clashing of blades, the harsh swings of a heavy axe, and the thunks of arrows missing their target and landing in tree bark. _It is absolute chaos beyond my field of vision,_ George realizes. 

“Leave that man alone! Just get the prince!” 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hears Dream spit out.

The sound of groaning men fills his ears and George winces. He’s not usually accustomed to such violence up close. Inhumane screeches are let out, as if they were a desperate plea for mercy or forgiveness. Or both. One by one, he hears the heavy thuds of five weights collapse onto the ground in a deafening and final sentence. It is definitely grim, but George sighs a breath of relief.

_Holy shit. Was that just a one versus five?_

Silence blankets the atmosphere once again and sets in on them like an unpleasant weight crushing their souls.

“Won’t they see you?” George asks uneasily, breaking the silence apprehensively, hands fidgeting together.

“They can’t see me if they’re dead.” Dream responds bitterly, like the aftertaste of black coffee. “I can’t imagine someone seeing me as the last thing they see.”

George is still completely unaware of the massacre before his eyes. _Well, at least we know the mask is effective,_ George assures himself. He catches the almost unnoticeable _shing_ of the blade returning into its sheath before Dream crouches low on the ground, crackling the fallen leaves delicately. 

“I’m sorry.” George hears Dream whisper to the bodies (he assumes). “I’ll make sure you rest easy.”

They stand there, in the middle of a brutal slaughter, like the eye of a hurricane.

Dream is indeed a powerful force like that.

An arrow whizzes through the air unexpectedly and lodges itself straight into the muscle of Dream’s thigh as soon as he rises to join with George. 

“Shit,” Dream curses under his breath. Nonetheless, he makes his way over to George effortlessly, pulling off the leather straps in one fell swoop and yanking the mask onto his own face, prior to departing to potentially kill the survivor. 

George is dumbfounded, face once more exposed to the cold night air, the sweet smell of the inner mask gone. Snapping back to reality, he picks up a discarded bow and arrow and makes his way to join Dream.

After all, adrenaline is temporary. The pain will follow.

Over back at the safehouse, he spies them in combat with one another, both with the intent to kill.

_Only one of them will make it out alive._

Dream is heavily incapitated though, the arrow lodged in his thigh providing a great disadvantage. And, as strong as Dream’s wrath may be, he is of excessive vulnerability currently.

From the corner of his eye, George sees Dream clench the sword in between his teeth, take his two hands to clasp the arrow in his leg, and snap it in half, so that the length is not cumbersome. He flings the splintered pieces menacingly, each one falling from the palm of his hand and the feathers gracefully floating to the ground.

Despite the heavily sustained injury, Dream is almost on par with his opponent, their blades clashing, defending, and attacking. George can only make out the glint of the blades from a distance and their rapidly moving silhouettes. 

The adrenaline is bound to wear off. As it dissipates, George can visibly see Dream’s movements slowing and his body slumping. Dream takes a second to regain his balance and stance.

_No that can’t be good. An opening._

George sprints. 

As if the man Dream was fighting had taken the same realization, he swings his sword with such vigor it slices its way through Dream’s toned skin, leaving a light laceration across mid abdomen.

Without hesitation, George loads the bow with an arrow, aiming it steadily. His heart is racing and his fingers are running cold. 

_One shot. One shot or Dream’s dead._

The bottomless pit to his stomach opens up once more, like a void to the inescapable, before he releases his hold on the crushed feathers of the arrow and lets it fly.

The arrow lands solidly in the man’s chest, fatally wounding him.

_My first kill._ George feels sick. _No stop! He is a man not something to be hunted._

George clutches the tree beside him, knuckles turning white, his vision spiraling. It takes a few seconds for him to regain himself before he staggers over to Dream hastily.

Dream is sunken into the ground, multiple wounds lacing his body, mask intimidatingly facing the stars as George carefully treads over.

“So, are you just going to leave me here to die?” Dream breathes out shakily.

“Don’t be an idiot. I might have done that to you yesterday, but I’m not that heartless.”

In an instant moment, George doesn’t even consider his options. He lowers his body so that his weight rests on his knees as he hovers over Dream. 

There is a straight cut along his mask that trails down his cheek, to the side of his neck and under his ear. 

“Do not touch the mask.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Do not. Please.” Dream coughs. “I’ll ask Bad to deal with it later.”

George huffs in defeat, before moving his attention to Dream’s leg and abdomen.

_What did Bad say yesterday?_ _That’s right. Staunch the blood. Clean the wound. Cover it up. Don’t remove objects that might result in more blood loss._

He takes a deep breath, murmuring a woeful goodbye to his shirt. With both his hands firmly gripping the fabric, he rips along the bottom of the shirt, the tear coinciding a harsh sound with his ears. Ultimately, George produces a strip of cotton. 

As if Bad had taken control over his hands, George efficiently fashions the fabric into a tourniquet, tying it above the puncture on Dream’s leg to staunch the blood flow.

“You’ve soiled my yellow shirt.” George jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Dream stares, clearly confused. “It’s literally sage green.”

“Listen here, I’m colorblind okay. Cut me some slack.”

Dream lets out an audibly loud and coarse wheeze, which resembles something of a burning tea kettle and a high pitched whistle.

“Oh my god, can you take it lightly?” George patronizes. “I just fixed you up.”

“No.”

There is nothing remotely romantic nor even amicable about their conversation, but somehow George finds this conversation endearing. It’s heartwarming really, hearing Dream acting like a normal human being and not an idiot with a mask. A small smile escapes his lips, too fast, before he can even twist his mouth into a straight line.

“I literally came out here bare to get you, okay? I can do whatever I want today; I saved your ass.” Dream supplies.

“And I saved yours too,” George quips back. There is a pregnant pause between them, yet the silence isn’t unpleasant.

“Seriously, how do you keep managing to get taken?” Dream laughs, body wracking in waves with every breath he takes.

“It’s not very helpful when one of your guards seizes me.”

Visibly, Dream goes still for a moment, the sound of the golden laughter disappearing. “What?”

“Nothing, anyways, how do you see through that mask?”

“I have superhuman abilities. I was dropped as a child so I have high sensitivity on all my other senses.” Dream says in a sudden hushed seriousness. George pauses, believing almost everything, eyebrows knitting together and eyes squinting in disbelief.

“I’m just joking. There are small punctures for my eyes. Your face is just too small compared to mine. What’s it like being so short?” 

“Oh so now you want to go back to yesterday?”

“Nope, this is too amusing.” Dream wheezes once more, doubling over in another violent fit of laughter. _It looks like a fish out water, convulsing and thrashing._

George wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Stop laughing, you’re gonna burst an artery.”

-

They start towards the castle once more, Dream’s arm clasped around George’s shoulder tightly as they limp pitifully. The height difference is unbearably humorous as Dream’s chin hovers above his head.

“What did they feed you as a child? You’re so tiny.” Dream says, amusement lacing his words.

George feels his face growing red and he violently nudges Dream at his hip with a spare elbow.

“Shut up. I’ll drop you and leave you out here alone.” 

“You wouldn’t and you know that.”

It’s as if Dream has read George like a book; George rolls his eyes before they carry on slowly back to the castle. 

“Oh right.” Dream suddenly stops in his tracks, causing George to lurch forward from the momentum of the next step. “Hand. Out.” 

Willingly, George obeys, holding his pale palm outwards and facing up towards the sky, his slender, long fingers slightly cupped.

Dream reaches his hand into the pocket of his trousers and pulls a solid, round item into his fisted hand. He hovers his hand over George’s before releasing the object into George’s awaiting palm.

The weight sinks into his hands, perfectly fitting into the mold of his fingers.

It's the compass.

“Thought you’d like this.” Dream explains, looking forward and avoiding George’s gaze.

“Isn’t this yours?”

“You seem to like it though. You can keep it.” 

The knots in George’s stomach tighten like rope coiling and tangling in the most confusing of ways. It’s like the sun has risen in the dark and the moon has risen in the day; indeed, George cannot fathom why he is able to keep such a priceless object. 

His palm sculpts to the shape of the compass, fingers curling around the gold plated surface. The object is cold to the touch having been exposed to late autumn winds, but somehow it resembles a fire, warm and filling George with an inexplicable rush of heat. In the starlight, the golden light reflects and shines onto his pale fingers. He clenches the compass tightly but also with a certain fragility. What is beyond his comprehension is the idea of why he would even treat it with such care. 

“Thanks,” George manages to utter within the torment of emotions that had just run through him.

The compass had kindled and ignited a small torch of hope somewhere along the way in the past few moments. George is emboldened, uncowardly and unashamed to ask. 

“What about the engraving inside?” he exhales in one breath, face directly turned to make eye contact (somewhat eye contact through the mask he would assume) with Dream.

“Oh nah, I don’t like you that much to tell you.” The tension subsides as Dream chuckles a lighthearted response, reassuring George that he has not overstepped any boundaries.

-

In the end, it is almost sunrise ( _it’s always bound to be sunrise)_ by the time they return to the castle.

Instead of taking them for at least a decent bath or a slight mental recovery with some greatly needed sleep, George practically drags Dream to the courtyard and into the tiny infirmary. 

He cleans Dream’s wounds with the antiseptic, raising Dream’s white shirt, which is coagulated with browned blood, and he dabs the soaked cotton fabric at the flakey, natural autoimmune response at the edges of the laceration. _His body is toned_ , George sees. _As expected._

Dream hisses, grabbing the side of the windowsill aggressively as George works on cleaning the wound and bandaging the skin under his rib cage. 

Both of them are worn out beyond belief: the wounds Dream suffered were painful and the journey George had supported both of them through was, to say the least, draining. George sinks himself into the wooden chair, perched delicately in the corner as Dream slides his back down the wall until he is almost perpendicular to the ground, legs outstretched, and directly next to George.

The sky is beginning to turn into a shade of light purple as the sun rises and they look out the window, waiting for Bad's arrival which would be guaranteed after sunrise. 

“For someone who can’t swing a sword, you’ve got pretty good aim.” Dream starts, striking up a conversation amidst their boredom in waiting. “I saw you target the man like it was nothing.”

“I guess if my eyes can’t work for color, they make it up with aim.” George responds wryly. “I didn’t want to kill him, but I had to.”

“And how does that feel?”

“He was the first person I killed, Dream. And if I’m being honest, it doesn’t feel too good. The whole taking another person’s life.” George adds, “They’re people like us.”

Dream goes silent and George instantly understands, deciding not to press the topic further. _Dream probably could make a throne of skulls and bones with the amount of people he’s wronged._

They sit there like old war heroes and soldiers decaying in the wind, staring into the abysmal blank space in front of them, side by side, unmoving like the living dead. As if on cue, it begins to rain outside, the sky graying and clouds drifting above the castle ominously. 

“What’s Sapnap going to think?” George asks, suddenly curious.

“The same thing as always. I’m a bitch and you’re a dumbass. And then, he’d probably blame himself for not being there.”

The rain pounds the courtyard heavily, soaking the cobble and leaving irritable puddles. It is pouring, as if a dam has been broken and all the water has been released. _No lessons today,_ George thinks. 

“You were actually smart to drop the compass. I was able to at least get a direction of where you were going.” Dream admits.

“What’s this? You’re complimenting me? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t take it to heart or I will take it back.” Dream says with a hint of a smile lingering behind in his voice.

They sit there waiting once more, silence comforting them and providing a cushion for the trauma of the night’s events.

By the time the rain begins to slow and a sun shower is emerging from the sky, they hear footsteps approaching the infirmary.

“Oh thank god,” Dream breathes out, voice ragged and weary.

Bad walks into the room, whistling and holding a muffin as if he were prepared to eat breakfast and enjoy his day.

George and Dream look up at him in anticipation. Bad removes himself from his extremely optimistic early morning mood and he slowly looks down. 

_All hell is going to break loose,_ George flinches. 

“What is wrong with you people?!” Bad screams, dropping his uneaten muffin onto the floor of the infirmary. He glances over at George, who must look like a deranged fool with half a ripped shirt and dried blood coating his hands, before glancing over at Dream, who is very clearly in need of medical attention by the looks of a lodged arrow in his thigh and a laceration across his head. 

“What were you guys even doing, oh my god?! I left you for _one_ night and you guys come back half dead. What am I supposed to see next? Your ghosts?!” Bad is clearly stressed, yet George can sense the worry surrounding his actions. 

“Seriously, you need to start taking care of yourselves.” Bad murmurs, sparing the both of them from any more wrath or potential lectures. 

All three of them are silent as Bad delicately assesses Dream’s awful injuries indignantly.

“George you did wonderful!” Bad suddenly exclaims, voice dripping with praise, as if the entire tense atmosphere had been flipped upside down. “You did everything I taught you!” 

Carefully, Bad scrutinizes Dream’s wounds, face pensive as if he were deciding the next course of action.

“Alright George, I think you can leave now, I can handle it.” Bad says after a few moments.

“Are you sure?” George eyes wearily.

“Yep,” Bad says. “I’m used to handling these injuries and Dream’s carelessness.”

“But—“

“Have a good night and try not to get kidnapped.” Dream dismisses George, “Sapnap’s probably going to be waiting for you.”

“It’s day,” George stares, confused.

“Take the day off and go to sleep,” Dream says instead. 

“I want to stay here though. As a favor for you saving me. Just to make sure you don’t turn up dead or something.”

“Go to sleep. Bad can handle this. I’m also not letting you see my face without charge.”

George huffs, a small smile tugging at his lips, and he leaves for his room.

-

As expected, his limbs feel like they are filled with lead and an impending headache is bound to crush him. The window has been closed already, an extra latch put in to support the closure, and the raindrops on the glass diffract the sunlight into his room oddly. George sets the golden compass onto his wooden desk promptly prior to sinking into the couch, legs propped up and head dropping back.

He’s close to drifting to sleep when the door between his room and Dream’s opens with such great force it slams against the wall and rattles the golden handle and polished wood.

“What the hell?!” Sapnap yells, running into the room. “Where did you guys go?! It’s about time you got back.”

George tilts his head back further and opens his eyes, groggy from the lack of respite he has received. _What a way to accept what seems to be an awfully serious conversation. Sapnap kinda looks funny upside down._

“You guys have problems.” Sapnap states furiously while catching sight of George’s repulsively dirty body and his soiled green shirt that is falling apart at the seams and ripped fringes.

Sapnap disappears into Dream’s room once more and he returns, emerging with a neatly folded pile of clothes. He passes the clothes to George and nudges his back as if in a way to somehow urge or convince him to wake up.

“Go shower and go change,” Sapnap says, wrinkling his nose. “It’s gonna be big, but you’re gonna have to wear this for now.”

Unlike any reasonable human being, George continues to lay there, eyes focused straight ahead at a very upside down Sapnap. He giggles unexpectedly.

_Poor Sapnap. Having to put up with a delirious prince from another kingdom._

“Why were you in Dream’s room?” George asks, as if he had sobered up a bit, but not enough to stop being difficult.

“Waiting for you guys, duh,” Sapnap rolls his eyes. “If you wanted to get taken hostage again, you could’ve at least given me a warning so that I could _help_ both of you. Or maybe stop this in the first place?”

“Well we made it out alive. Dream’s with Bad if you’re curious.” George supplies, grinning, before closing his eyes. “If you don’t mind me now--”

“Oh my god, go take a fucking shower.” Sapnap pokes George’s cheek with a sharp pointer finger and flicks him in the forehead. “Why am I taking care of you?”

“Listen here, I’m tired okay. I would very much like to sleep through everything.”

“Hey well, today’s my day off and I’ll play chess with you later. Just go shower first. I don’t need your stinking body reeking.”

George opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. _Chess? I must look so much like a domesticated dog right now, waking up because of that._

Indeed it is Sapnap’s day off. He is wearing no armor and he sports his white bandana as always. And, he wears possibly the most unprofessional shirt: a white tunic with a plain fire insignia embroidered in the center.

George sighs, dragging himself upwards and out the door towards the shower room once more, as Sapnap waves from his bedroom as if it were a proper send off into the military.

His reflection in the bathroom mirror is just about as awful as warranted by Sapnap and Bad’s reactions. 

_I look like I’ve been chewed out by some wolf pack._ Blood splatters soak his clothes and the dried blood leaves it crinkled. His ripped shirt exposes a fairly decent amount of his abdomen and he has bruises of unknown origin across his limbs.

_Am I insane?_ George laughs hoarsely. All things considered, looking unkempt is probably the least on his mind.

_The last time I was here Dream really hated me._ George stares into his own eyes, fingers touching his face. _What the hell happened last night?_

He doesn’t mind really, feeling comfortable within this wretched kingdom, but what is bizarre is how sharply the course of actions came. His mind is overflowing with thoughts that he is too tired to comprehend. Instead, George steps into the shower, letting the hot water flow over his body and consume his ever-growing questions.

It doesn’t take long to rinse all the grime and blood off, which trails down the drain in a diluted maroon color. No matter how hard he tries, however, it is undeniable that the blood of another man will always taint his soul. After all, he has taken the life of another (even if out of necessity) and he doubts there will be full recovery from that. He sighs deeply, as if he were an old wise man worn away by the vestiges of time. 

_Sapnap’s probably expecting me. I shouldn’t keep him waiting._ George considers. He pulls on the clothes with much ease, which are brimming in a vaguely familiar warm vanilla scent. The sleeves of the white tunic pass the length of his arms and the trousers are a bit longer than expected. 

_Well, that’s not reassuring._ George thinks. _He could probably punt me across the sea._

The height difference comes off embarrassingly as George struggles to roll up the sleeves. He refuses to be seen as small. 

He opens the door of the bathroom, the steam of the hot shower dissipating on contact with the frigid air of the hallway. The shirt, however, does provide satisfactory warmth and George pulls it tighter to his body.

Upon reentering the room, George spies Sapnap sitting cross-legged on the ground, setting up a chess set and assorting the pieces in the collective spots. Tentatively, he steps one foot in front of the other and sits down across from Sapnap. Limbs sore, George sinks into the ground.

Sapnap beams. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”

“I still want to go to sleep though.”

“But I already set up chess!” Sapnap whines. “C’mon _Gogy_.”

“You put the king and queen in the wrong place. So much for ‘setting up’, _Sappitus Nappitus_.”

“I’m not the best at this game, okay?” Sapnap tells him, as if he were releasing an embarrassing secret.

“Are you wasting my time?”

“Just play with me!”

And, so they do. It’s not long before George wins in a completely one-sided victory, shouting a cry of triumph. As expected of any true nineteen year old, Sapnap throws the wooden board aside, flipping all the pieces onto their sides in a mix of black and white.

It looks like a bloodbath, a war scene, ironically.

War. Everything is always about war.

George is curious really, on how _Sapnap_ , a nineteen year old teenager, who has barely grown a stubble on his chin or matured his voice from a squeaky high-pitched tone to a semi-deep rumble, could have ever been involved in political affairs.

“Dream is better at chess than me. You should play him.” Sapnap encourages through the short-lived silence. George remains silent, however.

“What?” Sapnap asks, noting the peculiar frown on George’s face and his knitted eyebrows.

“Nothing.”

“If it were nothing you wouldn’t be looking like that. Just say it already. Am I not your friend?”

_Friend._

Six letters. Simple, but the word makes George feel an inexplicable warmth like the heat is being unlocked from the chambers of his heart and slowly diffusing through his body into every crevice.

_Friend. Is Bad my friend too? Is_ **_Dream_ ** _my friend?_

  
“You okay?” Sapnap pulls George out of his sudden bout of philosophy as if he were slowly lulling George from a vast ocean wave and back to the shoreline.

George stares, “Why did you become Dream’s personal knight? Aren’t you like nineteen?”

Clearly taken aback by the very serious question yet intrigued, Sapnap chuckles, the calming noise ringing in George’s ears.

“That’s what you had to ask?” Sapnap continues. He drops down onto the floor, entire body sprawled out, eyes looking at the ceiling. “Gotta help a friend out you know?”

George raises his eyebrows, as if goading for more answers to which Sapnap supplies.

“I actually met Dream when we were really young. We were sparring buddies! And then somewhere along the way, I guess I earned his trust. He’s not all that intimidating.” Sapnap says proudly. “But yes, I am nineteen. I’ve seen a lot out there. War waits for no man.”

George considers it; it hadn’t occurred to him that Dream had humanly friendships and relations. Instead, all that escapes his lip is a mere, ignorant question. “Why are you always at war?”

“We have to defend our people.” Sapnap replies simply, propping himself up.

“Oh and also George, you seem to really like that compass.”

-

In the end, George decides he is not well educated enough on Dream’s nation.

_If I’m going to be under his care, the least I can do is keep myself busy. Or help them out,_ George considers.

Sapnap has been long gone, retreating to who knows where for his break. And, Dream has not yet returned to his room, George notes. 

He makes his way to the library instead, rather interested in occupying himself into helping with political affairs instead of being an idiotic, useless prince. The library is as spotless as before, the mess of the books in the corner having been cleaned up since his last interaction with Dream.

He looks upwards towards the second floor of the library. Dream is there, back turned against the door, slightly leaning against the railing with a book in hand. Careful to not disturb Dream, he shuts the door behind him lightly.

Yet, it is in vain. Dream turns around and looks down very suddenly, mask, as always, on his face. He looks considerably better, George decides; his wounds are wrapped with bandages in what looks to be a professional job. 

_Bad outdid himself,_ George thinks.

“Hey, you made it through the day without leaving!” Dream praises, setting his book on the railing in a triangular shape so as to not lose the page. He leans over the railing, both hands cupping his elbows. 

“Hey you didn’t die!” George quips back as he looks up. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Oh I’ve had worse injuries before, please.” Dream pauses, as if he were debating to disclose his true intentions. “I’m trying to figure out who the men from last night were.”

They leave each other be, as George begins to pick out his own books, running his hand along the spines and golden lettering of the meticulously bound books. 

_The Rise of Contemporary Leaders._

His fingers reach for that book automatically and he brushes the cover delicately before fanning the pages out and skimming the content.

He stops. There is a picture of him and Dream, yellowed and age worn in the book. They couldn’t have been more than seven, but they stand next to each other at equal height looking directly at the photographer with grim faces. And behind them is another man with pink hair and a golden crown. He reads the caption graciously provided in script.

_Hope for the new era. Future leaders of peace and victory._

George is baffled. _So much for peace_ , George thinks wryly. He puts the book back into its rightful place and prepares to leave. The sun has already made its descent and much of the rain has been dried from the morning. The night air will set in and leave them needing warmth.

“Leaving so soon?” Dream asks, without looking up from his book. “Try not to disappear tonight. If you do, I’m not saving you again.” 

“Who says I’ll need saving? I saved _you_ last night. We’re equal. One to one.”

Dream protests humorously, throwing around casual banter, “Wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t come for you in the first place.”

“Doesn’t matter because it happened. We’re equal.” George smiles almost unnoticeably.

With that, he ends the conversation and closes the door behind him in a light creak, before walking back to his room, back to the cold. There are considerably more guards stationed outside, but none have the build of the one he was taken by. _So much for finding a lead._ He passes them a curt nod of respect and disappears into his lodgings. 

There is a fire stoked already, the smoke softly blowing around the room with the wind escaping the window’s valiant effort to shield such weather. Yet with all the wind, the fire perseveres, burning bright and the embers providing some much needed coziness. 

_Probably Sapnap's doing._

He gives a mental gratitude to Sapnap for igniting a fire as he walks over to it. Cautiously, George throws some more wood into the fireplace and lets it burn.

_It needs to be warm if I’m going to stay the whole night,_ George grins.

The door connecting to Dream’s room is slightly open, and he hears Dream return with the creak of a door and a heavy thud. George surveys the room once more, ensuring there are no possible traps set up. After all, he does not want to be taken or cause more trouble. 

Something pokes out from the corner of George’s wooden desk.

He treks over to it apprehensively.

It’s a fine made bow, supplemented with a quiver of arrows, propped up on the golden compass.

He picks it up and examines it under the firelight, admiring the polished wood and craftsmanship, from the painstakingly neat attachment of the string to the smooth finish of the handle. 

Something else resides under the quiver of arrows. George sets down the bow carefully and rearranges the considerate gifts on his desk, which is currently too small to support the wonderful presents he has received.

Ultimately, George uncovers a piece of parchment, which is practically untouched with no signs of wrinkles or tears.

  
  
  


_George,_

_Thanks for saving me today (even though I provided the favor first)._

_Here is a demonstration of my gratitude. I assume you won’t lose it as it’s quite literally large and I trust that you care about particular objects. You’re terrible with a sword so this will have to make do._

_You’re going to need this after all, if we were to go hunting before winter arrives._

_Dream_

  
  


George has to blink twice after reading the somewhat thoughtful letter left in his care. 

_Does this mean I can leave castle grounds? Are we_ **_friends_ ** _?_

He suddenly smiles his lips tugging to the farthest corners of his face as he holds the piece of parchment delicately. As if the cold has washed out and summer has dawned on him, George’s hands are clamming up and he has to read the words twice to pull himself back to reality. His heart feels full and despite the wind drafting in through the window, he is burning, unexpectedly hypersensitive to his surroundings. He is not lonely. 

A sudden invincibility floods him.

Impulsively, he pulls the squeaky lever and unlatches the extra bolts of the large panel of his arched window so that it opens outwards. The cold air rushes into the room, but George couldn’t be more indifferent. _It is refreshing_ , he concludes. 

The wind whips his face and leaves his skin cold to the touch and fingers numb, but nonetheless excitement flows through his veins and leaves him almost sweating. He chalks up the numbness to the wide range of emotions he is enduring in contrast to the bare loathing from almost a week ago.

George sits at the windowsill wide awake, peering into the darkness that hangs over the forest, his head cushioned by the bend of his elbows. He lays there, comforted by the cold he was once afraid of.

He intakes a large breath of air, which is somewhat moist after the morning rain. It smells pleasant and has a very earthy scent to it, like the relief after a large storm. 

It is the petrichor, the sweet aftermath to the torrent of rain. 

He takes several deep breaths of air, eyes softened to the dark and imagines himself in the forest ahead, with Bad, Sapnap, and Dream, hunting and feasting by a lone fire but most of all sharing the common laughter of a poorly executed joke.

George laughs sweetly like the sound of the chimes of bells glistening through the night.

He wonders if Dream hears it too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it this far, this chapter was a large load, omg. also yea some of the 'useless' events always comes back into the story cuz im a sucker for foreshadowing
> 
> but story name drop!
> 
> thank you for reading and i hope you continue to stick along! :)
> 
> also,,, if i created a twt/tiktok to post concept art would yall be interested???? hmmmm...


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